


the ghost of you (feels close to me)

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [32]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Death, Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not Happy, Really i can not stress how Not Happy this is enough, Sad, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 16:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21148517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: Everywhere Crowley looked, there were signs of his angel.Impossible signs.He blinked, and a few tears slipped down his cheeks.Impossible.





	the ghost of you (feels close to me)

**Author's Note:**

> look,,, look,,, for every fluffy get together fic, I must also write one Heavy Angst, y'know? Pretty sure isaac newton said that.

* * *

He saw the signs everywhere.

A cup of tea on the counter Crowley had just cleared.

A book left open on coffee table.

A warm spot on the now permanently empty side of the bed.

Everywhere Crowley looked, there were signs of his angel.

Impossible signs.

He blinked, and a few tears slipped down his cheeks.

_ Impossible _ .

The house was cold—it was always cold, these days.

Crowley never could bring himself to turn on the heat, to light the fire, to bring any sort of warmth or comfort into the building that could no longer be considered a home.

Crowley didn't have a home, not really.

Not anymore.

Not since…

The impossible signs continued.

An old, worn cardigan draped over an overstuffed armchair.

Leftovers missing from the fridge.

A whisper of an old melody in the air, an old tune an angel had once hummed under his breath as he dallied about the house.

Sometimes, when Crowley was tired or drunk or especially desperate, he swore he heard footsteps, felt the brush of fingertips against his cheek.

Impossible, impossible, impossible.

_ Undeniable _ .

He sat in the living room, cross-legged on the sofa they'd gotten together—dark brown leather, both exceptionally comfortable and exceptionally stylish—staring at the candles he'd lit at either end of the coffee table.

They smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and sugar, and Crowley felt like someone was plucking at the loose strings of his heart and  _ tugging _ , pulling until the whole thing unravelled.

A plate sat in the middle of the table, piled high with crepes and sushi and those samosas from the Indian takeaway place down the street.

A book lay beside it, the pages worn and soft from use, the print faded, the cover frayed.

An old Frank Sinatra vinyl spun on the record player, low and sweet.

"Please," Crowley murmured, his voice barely above a breath. "Please just… show me something.  _ Anything _ . I just—I need—"

The words were broken, splintering like glass in his throat, tearing at the roof of his mouth, heavy as nails on his tongue.

The candlelight flickered.

"I need you," Crowley whispered, his breath hanging in the air like smoke. "I don't—I can't do it without you.  _ Please _ ."

Like smoke, it faded, and Crowley was left, alone, in the cold.

He didn't move. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe.

He closed his eyes and prayed he'd see his angel in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you, uh,,, didn't cry too much


End file.
